Of all the Darkest Fears
by The Phantom of Quill and Ink
Summary: How could this young innocent child become the focus of such terrible treatment. Told from Erics POV. Chapter 9 up. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! R
1. Chapter 1

**this is actually a replacment for chapter one! Phantom jedi has done a wonderful job editing it! **

**I know this has been done but I don't care! I am doing it again! Please read and review, I am so desperate to know what you think of my writing. **

**This story begins at Erik's birth, but not from his point of view. As incredibly intelligent the Phantom may seem I do not believe he remembered his own birth, or even knows his birthday for that matter! I will switch to his point of view in the next chapter so you'll get to see what HE thinks and not what I think happened.**

**Erik – Yes, that's right. It's my story not hers!**

**Me – Now, Erik, be patient… (We both hear police sirens and I begin to panic) I don't own any characters from the Phantom of the Opera (forcefully grabs Erik and stuffs him under my bed) See?**

**Please read and review and most importantly – ENJOY!!**

Chapter 1

_A Beautiful Baby Boy_

He was instantly wrapped up in white cloths and blankets to keep him warm. A baby boy, so delicate and fragile, he shivered in the cool air. All that could be seen was a shock of jet-black hair at the top of his head, spiked and still wet. He was gasping for a first breath beneath the cloth so the nurse lifted the blankets a little to let him breathe… and promptly shrieked.

The silence in the room was tense, electric, almost louder than the frightened scream. The nurse had covered her mouth with her hands and was staring down at the little baby with a mixture of horror and sadness on her face. The child just stared up at her with innocent eyes and a small sweet smile. But on a face such as his, it was nothing but a grotesque leer.

"Let me see him!" his mother demanded loudly. "I want to see my baby!"

The nurse instantly recovered his face with the blankets and picked him up gently but fearfully, like she didn't really want to touch such a creature. She handed him over, a sigh of relief escaping before she could restrain it.

The mother looked up at her, puzzled and more than a little afraid herself. The baby himself had a slightly bemused expression under the blankets like he couldn't really understand what was going on, what all the fuss was about.

She lifted the blankets to get a good look at her second son's face, and gasped, her face contorted with horror, her mouth open and her lips pulled back in a silent testimony of disgust. _No_, she mouthed. She let go of him, like he was burning her, and pushed him away, her face turned away from his wriggling body trying to get free of the twisted blankets.

Outside, his father paced the hospital waiting room, nervously wringing his hands and breathing heavily. A tall dark haired man with brooding eyes and thin lips. He was usually neat and well groomed, but after running his hands through his hair several times and many sleepless nights he was thin and disheveled. Dark shadows circled his eyes. The nurse opened the door slowly but he still heard it creak and looked up sharply. She tried to smile but he was too smart a man to not notice the look of dread and fear. His face fell and he very slowly came to a halt.

"What is wrong…?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.

The nurse just motioned desperately. He followed her anxiously into the room. His wife was sitting up and covered with clean sheets. The assorted doctors and assistants looked on, their faces grave and fearful. His wife had her eyes closed and was muttering something under her breath. It sounded like a _prayer_! The child was still trying without success to squirm away from its blankets. It seemed healthy enough, lively enough. So why were the doctors looking at him like that?

He picked the little back up gently and turned him over. His eyes widened but he made no sound. He had incredibly dark thick hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled with innocence and love and innocent childish happiness. A sweet happy smile painted his mouth. These were the first things his father noticed about him, it only to a millisecond for him to take in the full picture and forget these lovely features.

His face was terribly scarred on the right side. His father opened his mouth in disgust, then closed it again. He held the child at arms length, fear and abhorrence in his eyes. He was speechless, a rare occasion. He closed his eyes and thrust the infant into the nurse's hands. "Take him!" he hissed. "I don't want to touch him!" and he hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The nurse held the child in bewilderment In that instant his father subconsciously vowed to hate the boy all his life. To _loathe _him!

It was an bad start to an even more cruel and painful life full of misery and despair.

**And that is the beginning of my long, depressing and difficult story. Not difficult to read I hope, but that chapter was harder to write than I thought. It is now your chance to read and review. There is a small icon down by the bottom left hand corner of the screen. It says beside it "Submit Review"… Please click on it and type in the box provided any thoughts and/or feelings you have about this Phan-fic. Also, there is a box on the bottom right hand side that allows you to sift through chapters. Feel free to select one and read on…!**

**No seriously, I would really like some reviews. Wouldn't we, Erik?**

**Erik – Oh, yes, please review. She says she'll beat me if my story doesn't get enough reviews (good or bad) and…**

**Me – That's enough from you now! (Covers Erik's mouth with hand)…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Read and edited by Phantom Jedi!**

**This is from Erik's point of view. I am new to this game so please, when you review, please BE GENTLE! Erik gets upset very easily and he will cry if you upset him too much! (There comes a loud and ominous knock at the door)**

**Erik – What was that?**

**Me – It doesn't matter, just get in the closet! (Pushes him in the closet and leans against the door) How may times do I need to tell you guys? I do not own Erik. I don't own any of the characters from the Phantom of the Opera! (The figures begin to retreat and I open the door slowly, letting Erik out) Okay, you can come out now. Come on, out and tell your story!**

**Erik – (Hesitantly) well, it goes a little like this…**

Chapter 2 

_Blood and Bitter Tears_

I must start with my earliest memories. The first memory I have was of darkness, but it was not the warm darkness of a soft bed in a rich bedroom, but something cold and hard and uncaring. I curled up tighter, trying to save at least some heat. I couldn't feel my fingers or toes and my nose was red and dripping. I was so cold. You have no idea how terrible constant cold is! It's something that bites away at you and nips your limbs until you feel nothing but a painful numbness that means your limbs have died and need to be cut from you. This never happened to me, but sometimes I feared I was spending the last night with both my legs and arms intact.

I was fed little, which added to the cold. I was always so horribly vulnerable to illness and fever. Constant hunger was worse than the cold. I was only a small child at the time and I needed a lot of food to keep me safe, food I was never given. Your stomach growls to begin with, then it snarls and then it howls and roars at you until you get the feeling that your stomach is trying to digest itself. I was always damp as well, which only made matters so much worse and unbearable.

To this day, I cannot possibly wonder why my parents, who were supposed to love me, put me through this hopeless, lightless hell. I scored the hard ground with my bare chapped nails and begged to let out, to be fed, to be held. If anyone heard my screaming pleas, I was ignored. With all the strength I possessed I would hammer on the door until my hands were bleeding and my face raw with tears. I soon began to explore my surroundings, desperate to escape.

I was in a small, dark and cold room, which I soon learned to be the cellar. There was no light and so I developed remarkable night vision. Of course, at that point I had no aspect of day or night, having seen nothing of the world apart from cold and damp and dark. Spiders and rats were my only friends in those evil days. I ate them when I could catch them, but mostly I was too weak to chase and kill rats or even to swat spiders as they tickled my skin and sent wave after wave of cold shivers down my spine. This is why rats or spiders never frightened me like they did other children.

I cried a lot. Cried for my mother, for someone, anyone to come and take me away. My… the man who ruled the house… Mr. Destler… I cannot stoop to call him my _father_ for he was no father to me, was the only thing that I was ever truelly terrified of. He once came to me in the dark with a candle and I was mesmerized by the flames. Light! It stung my eyes after being in the dark so long but I couldn't turn my face from it. It was beautiful. You have no idea how beautiful that single flickering candle was to me.

I stood shakily and reached out to embrace him but he pushed me away, so violently that I fell back and hurt my ankle. It stung and smarted like my feelings. I looked up at him questioningly. He averted his eyes from me like he would like to look anywhere but at my face. I frowned and struggled to my feet again. I barely came up to his waist.

"We have guests in our house, boy!" he spat, still not looking at me. I had heard his voice before, behind the door. This way, I had picked up words before and I knew what he meant. In fact, if I'd wanted to, I could probably give him a sufficient answer. Yet I had noticed that sometimes when people speak, they used words that seemed to have no particular meaning. Words that were called and asked and muttered and even shouted though the house as a means to identify people. He had called me "boy". Was this my name? "Boy"…?

"You are disturbing us," he went on angrily. "Be silent or I might have to silence you myself." With that he turned, his long coat whispering behind him. He went out, locking the door securely behind him. He had left the candle behind him!

It cast a flickering light that caused shadows to dance and shudder around me. I was frightened, thinking that maybe they were monsters come to eat me like I had eaten the rats. At first I hid in the corner, shivering with fear and cold, but then I realized that the shadows copied me, only moving when I moved. I almost laughed at this, almost, but not quite. I did not know how to make such a joyful sound.

I reached out and touched the flame, yelping as it burnt my fingers. I was amazed. I reasoned that if I put my hands near it, it felt warmer, or at least not so mercilessly freezing. So if I touched the flame, it must become so hot that it hurt. I had never known such heat. I gazed at the light and as I did so, a spark, deep within my soul seemed to flicker like the candle, warm and pleasant. It took me a while to realize what it was. It was hope!

I studied the candle for as long as possible. Soon, I also discovered that the heat became more intense when I waved my fingers over it than beside it. Then heat must travel upwards, does it not? On an impulse, I picked up the wax stalk and flashed it though the air, creating spirals and circles in the air with the light. Then, holding it up close to the shelves with covered the walls from floor to ceiling, I began to explore, my bare feet flapping on the cold stone.

Before then, I had to rely on my other senses to tell me what was in the room with me. I had felt the shelves and dusty bottles and large square heavy objects and boxes, all furred with a thick layer of dust. Now I saw them for what they were. I saw bottles of red and clear liquids. I saw books and boxes of little trinkets. I tried to pull one of the heavy volumes toward me but knocked a bottle. It smashed on the floor with an ear splitting crash at my feet, making me yell in fright and showing my legs with red liquid. I felt a terrible pain that meant the broken glass had cut my feet and lower legs. I soon lost all idea of what was the content of the bottle and what was my own blood.

My… Mr. Destler immediately burst into the room, shaking with rage and slamming the door so violently, a gust of wind killed the candle's flame and we were instantly plunged into the deepest of darkness. I suddenly found all night vision useless. But still I think I recovered faster than he did, and was able to dodge and evade him for a while. Only when I put my foot down on broken glass and cried out, did he find me and clutch my arm painfully, the nails digging into my skin.

"I told you to be silent!" he roared, spit speckling my face. "Can you not understand a simple command!?"

"Y…y…yeh…yes…" I stuttered, trembling in fear and regret. I had been studying the candle for some time now, surely the guests would have left.

In answer, he gave me a backhand strike across my face. It hurt terribly, but not as much as the beating that followed.

When he left me, sore and bleeding from where I had fallen on the broken glass and covered in bruises, I felt like my hope, that flickering candle inside my very soul had died. Oh, what wouldn't I have given for a single, kind touch? But what had I to give but my own blood and bitter tears?

**Oh no! Erik has burst into tears! It's the lack of reviews you've given this story! (Coughs loudly behind hand). **

**Anyway, this was surprisingly easier to write than the last chapter. Don't get me wrong, it was still to damn hard, but it flowed a little easier, you know? Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. I am listening to "Phantom of the Opera" on my ipod (Gerald Butler is the greatest Phantom in the world) and maybe that's what's making it a little less difficult. I'd better stop writing. At least for a while because my eyes feel like bees have stung them!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, me again. This is the 3rd chapter of this fic. Many thanks to dear Erik here who is telling you this wonderful story! Erik – Yeah, that's right!**

**Me – Now, Erik, could you tell these lovely people that I, in fact, do NOT own you? **

**Erik – Miss Phantom of Quill and Ink does not own the Phantom of the Opera, but she has kidnapped me for her entertainment… (Looks back at me nervously) Please, God, help me, save me now, before she…!**

**Me – Enough! (Grabs him and locks him in the cellar).**

Chapter 3 Music Lessons 

It was the music that kept me alive more than the pitiful food they pushed in through a dog flap in the door. My younger sibling, my sister, I think, was having musical lessons in the room next to me. The piano notes wafted through the wall and I drank them up, whether they be shaky or confident. She practiced for half an hour every day and those were the happiest minutes of my day.

One day, her teacher was trying to teach her the scale of "E minor". I listened. I like the sound. It was haunting and shivery and made a chill finger the back of my neck. I pressed my body to the cold stones as if trying to catch the notes with my whole body. I was soon numb and shivering as a result.

The teacher played faultlessly but my sister, for the life of her, couldn't echo him. She kept asking him to repeat it to her so that she may get a better view of the fingering on the keys. The teacher soon got so exasperated over her, he refused to play her the scale and demanded she sounded it out herself. She persisted, if only to hear the sound of it again but he declined. Sulkily, she tried again and again, but failed each time.

I was shivering uncontrollably now. I thought of how happy she would feel if only her teacher just played the scale again. She only wanted to hear it after all. Then I got an idea. I stupid, idiotic, foolish, wonderful idea. I sang to her! I echoed the piano notes with my voice. It was easy enough, I remembered the sounds well enough but I was shaking with cold and hunger and something I hoped wasn't fever so my voice was shaky and lacking in strength.

The music lesson stopped abruptly.

"Whose is that voice?" he asked, his voice sounding amazed.

I should have kept silent then and left him to think he had imagined it but I was so foolish. I thought good things would come if I answered.

"It is I," I said loudly, so he heard me through the wall.

"Who are you? _Where_ are you?"

"In the cellar, the wine cellar."

It was then that my sister spoke up. "It is nothing, merely my youngest brother. Please, ignore him and show me that scale again."

"No." His voice was commanding. "I cannot allow myself to ignore such a wonderful voice."

I was shocked. Nobody had ever complimented me before. Kind words meant nothing in the miserable prison cell I was trapped in. Not when I was so cold and hungry and in pain. But it was nice all the same. It gave me a warm felling inside. I returned the favor.

"Thank you. I like listening to your playing."

"Come out, son. Let me see you."

A show of yet more kindness. That candle flame I call hope flickered dully. But flickered all the same.

"I cannot. I am locked in the cellar."

His voice next sounded puzzled. "Now, why are you locked in the cellar?"

My sister spoke again, this time, a hint of desperation tinged her voice. "It is nothing! Mother, father!" she called loudly. "The demon boy is disturbing our guest!"

I quailed fearfully. Would _he_ come and beat me again? The insult was hurtful as well. "Demon boy"? Was I some sort of monster? But it was soon taken over by a mounting terror as I heard heavy footfalls on the stares. I cowered in a corner and sobbed quietly.

"Please, don't!" I cried. The footsteps halted. "I am sorry. I will not do it again. I will never open my mouth again! Please, don't hurt me…" I whimpered and begged like a dog. The door banged open and light spilled in, almost blinding me in the constant darkness.

"I say!" I heard the teacher shout. "What are you going to do with that boy?"

"He is possessed by a demon!" Mr. Destler grunted. "He is no boy! But a monster!"

I cowered and huddled closer to the damp, hard wall that scraped at the skin of my back to get away from the man who called himself my father. He took a couple of hollow steps towards me, holding a club in his right hand, beating it off his left.

"But, Sir," the teacher stuttered. "Surely not. I have heard him sing and weak though his voice may be, I believe that with training he would be a wonderful singer. This boy is not cursed by God, but blessed."

Mr. Destler stopped in his tracks. "Did you say he can sing…?" he asked incredulously. "How do you know…?"

"I heard him singing through the walls." The music teacher was now looking down at me wonderingly, like I was not a dirty, bleeding child, but with happiness and kindness. In other words, he looked at me as though I was worth something. My dark, greasy matted hair fell thick and damp on my face. I was naked from the waist up, filthy and stinking. I will never understand how he could look at me so when I was like this.

"I propose you let me give him singing lessons," said the music teacher. "It is such a waste to see him locked up and dying when he has such a beautiful talent…" I looked up, but my hair was so long and wet, it stuck to my face. I was amazed. Would this man free me from the living hell I had endured all my life, or was this another bitter trick. Like when one of my brothers heard me sobbing in the night for food and thought it would be funny to throw a lemon at me.

"At any rate, why is he here?" snapped the music teacher. "He seems human enough but you treat him in a way that is little worthy of a dog!" he was shouting now, working himself up into a furry. "This is disgraceful! If I was not a great friend of this family and didn't know any better, I would report you to a police officer!"

My mother had arrived now, lovely and dressed in a fine gown. He was indignant at the judgement passed by the teacher. "What do you know of it," she snarled with uncharacteristic viciousness. I shrank back again, frightened for the teacher. "We would kill him ourselves, if it wouldn't end in a trip to hell!" I felt like a dagger had been thrust into my heart at those words and I actually winced. I knew my so-called "father" had no love for me, but to hear my mother talk about me in this way…? Was I to be drowned like an unhealthy puppy? Was I worth so little?

"I am shocked at you, Mrs. Destler!" yelped the teacher. "Why are you so heartless? I mean, what is wrong with the boy?" He turned to me and addressed me directly, to my parents' horror. "What's your name, son…?"

I shook my head, gazing at Mr. Destler fearfully.

"You're better not knowing, Alexander," he muttered darkly. "Why do you want to teach this little wretch?" he kicked me savagely and I yelled shrilly in pain. Alexander, the teacher, looked as though he was about to rush to my aid, but held himself back at the last second.

"He has a very nice voice…" he shrugged uneasily.

"Well, that's none of your business," sneered Mr. Destler. He was about to shoo the teacher away when my mother put a slender hand on his shoulder. He paused, listening.

"Think about this, Trajan," she said. "If he is such a good singer, then we could make a profit…"

"Yes…" pondered Mr. Destler. "But who would pay to _see_ him?"

"We'll find a way around that…" and she began to hiss something in his ear that I couldn't hear. I swallowed, still breathing heavily from the aching bruise where he had kicked me. Alexander looked as though he was about to interrupt but I shook my head frantically and he fell silent.

My "father" smiled nastily as he said, "Alright, Alexander, you can teach him… Come to dinner tomorrow and we shall talk about prices and whatnot."

The teacher nodded, and, shooting me a final, anxious glance, left with a swish of his tattered cloak. My sister went back to the piano and my mother disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone with Mr. Destler. He waited impatiently for the door to slam shut and signal the leaving of the music teacher before allowing his smile to widen evilly.

"So," he sneered horribly. I shivered, fear welling up again. "You fancy yourself a singer…?" he kicked me again, cruel laughter lighting up his dark eyes. I moaned and tried to crawl away from his. But he caught me easily and hit my hard in the jaw. I saw stars. "Like a little girl, eh," my "father" laughed maniacally. "Well, come on, sing for me!" he hit me again and kicked my ribs. I was bleeding terribly and my body hurt. I was trembling with such fear that I just wanted to die!

"Well," he sneered, grabbing my hair and forcing my face upward to his and he spat on me. "Sing, like a little bird!" He laughed again and my stomach dissolved with fear and humiliation. I spat blood out and curled into a tight ball. He kicked me again and again and I moaned and yelled and begged and still he wouldn't stop. That was the lowest of all hells. I was nothing in those moments, a worm, writhing and twitching. Little did I know that things were about to get so much worse.

**That is the worst I've ever written. Not that it's particularly bad, it's just that's the worst I've ever treated a character. Poor, unhappy Erik. I hate tormenting him like this. This was probably the easiest to write. I mean it was fluent and I suffered from very little writers block. I get the idea that the next chapter is either going to be the hardest of all or the easiest. I can't decide. More from Erik later!**


	4. Chapter 4

**As you might have guessed from the way Erik ended his last chapter, things are about to get a whole lot worse. Oh, Erik, I am so sorry…**

**Erik – Do not apologise. It was not you who created me as the monster I am but (turns red with anger) Gaston Leroux!**

**Me – You forgot to mention Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber…**

**My friend has told me about this book, "Phantom" by Susan Kay. She told me a little about the plot and characters and whatnot. I haven't read it! So, if this story comes off a little Kayish, this is a complete coincidence. **

Chapter 4

The Dinner Party

I woke from a dark, fitful and restless sleep more tired than I had been before. My dreams give me no sanctuary to the horror that is my waking life. Indeed, they exaggerate and imitate my terrors, often causing me to jump back to wakefulness with a cry or a sob. Hence I sleep little.

It was the light that woke me. My mother, carrying a flickering candle and staring anywhere but at myself, was standing in front of me. The candle, now my sign of hope, illuminated her pleasant face. Her features were marred by a look of ill disguised disgust and loathing as she looked around the filthy, bloody heap that was me, never meeting my eyes of coarse. She was holding something in her hand, but the single candle did nothing for my vision.

"Come," she murmured. "Get up…"

I sighed and got painfully to my feet, stumbling a little and trying to catch hold of her hand to steady myself. But with a hiss of fear and hatred, she yanked her hand out of my reach, causing me to fall hard on the stone. I cried with pain as my knee slammed on the cold ground.

"Get up," she declared more forcefully. I slowly and carefully stood upright. I wobbled a little, weak with hunger and pain, emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Put this on!" she demanded, thrusting the object into my hand, twitching away, trying to touch as little of me as possible. It was a mask. Metal and evil looking. It would cover the whole right hand side of my face from chin to forehead. I looked back at her doubtfully but she merely averted her eyes. I slowly raised it to my face and pressed it to my skin. It was cold and the sharp edges nicked my skin but it was a perfect mould and I needed no strings to hold it in place.

I looked up at her again, my face masked, and she met my gaze this time. The sides of my mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile, but I couldn't quite make that leap, yet. This was the first time anyone had met my gaze and held it for more than a moment. She had lovely eyes, shiny in the dancing candlelight.

"Now," she said, as though holding back fear. "Follow me…" and she turned and briskly marched up the stairs to the main house. I lurched after her, weary and unsteady on my legs, my feet numb with cold.

The first thing I notice was the enveloping warmth. It was beautiful and comforting and so pleasant, I could have moaned with happiness. I kept silent. The light was blinding me at first, but my bat eyes got used to the brightness soon enough. She led me through a extravagant hallway filled with delicate furniture and warm carpets and soft wallpaper. Everything was so warm and soft and bright compared to the dark and cold and harsh cellar that was my home.

At first I felt completely at awe with my surroundings. Everything was in such contrast to the cruel lodgings I had spent so long in, I might have been in a different world. Then I felt a little sad that this belonged to someone else and this was never going to be mine. I admit, I was so simple a child that I never felt even a twinge of jealousy. This was their world. I had mine. I only hated them much later. For now, I was content to simply look around me in wonder, wondering what this device was for and what the plump cushions felt like, and marvel at how lovely the furry carpet felt to my battered, cut and cold feet.

Then I followed her up a flight of stairs, taking my time. She pouted impatiently. It was all very well for her! She was whole and healthy and strong. I grimaced as my thin, bony arms gave way on the banister and I looked up hopelessly at the top where she was waiting for me.

"I need help," I told her. I was in no position to ask but I couldn't make it upstairs on my own. She didn't answer me, but simply glared down at me coldly. She wasn't going to move a finger to help me. I took a hesitant step and a nasty bruise near my ribs flared into painful life and I gasped, collapsing on the stairs. "Help me!" I begged.

"Oh, mother," I heard a light female voice whimper. I looked up. One of my sisters, the one who I tried to help with her music lesson, was staring down at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. "He'll get dirt on the carpet!"

"Will you help me, sister…?" I panted, clutching my ribs.

"He spoke to me!" she gasped in fright. "Mother, the thing spoke to me!"

"I sang for you…" I reminded her, ignoring the mean name. "The Thing"? I ask you! "I helped you… will you not return the favour…?" That was too much for her. She shrieked shrilly and disappeared into her room, slamming the door frantically behind her. I hung my head, trying not to let the tears spill.

I soon raised my eyes in fear when I heard a deep booming voice shout, "What's all this commotion?" Mr. Destler now stood at the top of the stairs, giving me a spiteful, sneering look that made my insides shrivel.

"Trajan," my mother said to him. "The boy is too weak to climb the stairs…"

"Ah," he said, seeing yet another chance to give me a superior snigger and taking it. He began to make his way down to me. I cowered and shrank away from him, making myself as small as possible. But he grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet with a grunt. He pulled me up the stairs forcefully, hurting my arm. He threw me into a large, well-furnished bedroom. My sister, still recovering from the shock of hearing my voice, screamed at the frail, dirty little masked boy at her feet.

I scrambled to my hands and knees. The room was yet the softest and most lovely room I had seen so far. A large pink fluffy bed took up most of the room but there was also a dressing table and a wardrobe, carved with vines and flowers. A fleeting though managed to cross my mind before I was lifted up under my arms (not gently.) Why did my sister live here and not me?

"Oh, stop your fussing," my "father" was snapping at my sister. "He's masked now, Sonya."

Sonya had her back pressed to the wall, looking everywhere but at me. "It does not matter," she gasped. "He'll get filth on my carpet…" again with the carpets! Were they worth more than I was? "And he smells…!"

My "father" frowned at her, then took an experimental sniff himself. I smelled nothing but he wrinkled his nose and lifted his upper lip in a face. "Alright," he sniffed. "To the bathroom with you!" and he made to grab my arm again, but I, swift and nimble on my skinny legs if a little skittery, dodged his hands and declared, "I can walk myself!"

He shrugged, that permanent sneer playing about his face as always. "Of coarse you can…"

The nest few hours were both torturous and heavenly. First, my sister, with much fussing and argument ran me a bath. It was so warm, almost burning my skin, and I felt an overpowering urge to close my eyes and sleep. But when I actually drifted off, I found myself choking on soapy water and drowning. I shook myself, spattering dark murky water from my long hair onto the walls. They would not be happy for that, I thought. But I decided not to care. They never cared for me after all. In the bath, I had a chance to examine and lick my wounds. I ran my hands gently over my neck, my chest and stomach, my hips and legs. No nothing broken, but I noticed a lot of unhealthy and ugly scars about me, cuts and bruises. But that couldn't be helped now.

Next, when I was ushered out of the bath (they cared nothing for my modesty, probably thinking me nothing better than an animal. Though my sister did look me up and down to see if I had anything unusual. A tail, maybe?) I was led into another bedroom where I was left with several items of clothing and the door slammed shut. I collapsed on the bed, still very tired, and my head hurting slightly.

I got up and paced the room, checking the strength of my legs and wondering how much punishment they would take before becoming utterly useless. Well, at least I hadn't lost them to frostbite in the wine cellar. The room wasn't especially large, but it was warm and comfortable. My brother's, I thought. He had left now, gone over to a place I had heard my sister call "The New World…" Nothing in this room really interested me, until I saw him…!

A boy, about my height, and incredibly thin and ill looking, was standing opposite me, looking at me warily. Well, at least he was meeting my eyes, which is more I can say of some people. He had dark, wet and matted hair. His face seemed recently scrubbed clean and he was wearing a mask like mine. He had soft, gaunt cold blue eyes and thin lips. He could have been handsome, but something about him, his defeated look, years of darkness and fear that shone in his eyes, made him seem dishevelled and weak. I opened my mouth to speak.

"What's your name…?"

He didn't answer, but his mouth moved with mine. I frowned he did the same. I raised a milk white hand with long spidery fingers to the boy and he did the same. My fingertips met cold glass. A mirror! Of coarse. Hopes of a new and understanding friend, someone I could relate to (he was exactly like me, was he not?) were dashed and my heart fell to my feet. But the shock of seeing myself in the mirror soon overwhelmed all other emotion.

A sharp crack on the door made me jump and a harsh shout, "Are you ready in there…?"

"In a second," I replied, hurriedly throwing on the clothes. The shirt and breeches where straight forward enough, but my hands fumbled over the unfamiliar clothes. A cravat, tricky to tie and buckles on my shoes. What am I talking about? Merely having shoes and a shirt was a luxury I was unaccustomed to. When I was fully dressed, I took another glance at the mirror. I looked respectable now. Better, now that all the scars and cuts had been covered. A new person, I fancy. But the mask was ugly and ruined the effect. I reached to take it off but the door banged open and Mr. Destler hat I ssobarged in.

"You must be ready now!" he snarled. I turned, fear tingeing my eyes and setting me on edge. He laughed cruelly. "No need to cower like that."

I turned back to the mirror. I touched the mask and tried to prise it off my face but my "father" grabbed my wrist, twisting horribly until I screamed.

"Now, now," he hissed nastily in my ear. "You don't want to do that!"

"Alright," I cried. He let go with a grunt of dissatisfaction.

"You are needed at the dinner table now."

"The dinner table…?" I repeated, not sure I understood him.

"Yes!" he roared and I flinched. "You are so pathetic…!" He turned away from me, snorting derisively, and it was all I could do to keep up with him.

The dinner table? That was reserved for the family and special guests. But I as part of the family, was I not? So surely I should eat here as well? Why was all this kept from me when there was obviously no shortage? To my dismay and anger, this was revealed to me very shortly.

I was sat down roughly at a long dinner table. A china plate and silverware were laid out in front of me neatly. Candles were placed on the table in lines at regular intervals. I actually smiled (not something I usually do, I assure you.). Now there were lots of little beacons of hope near me. I was first to be seated and I was left alone to wait and wonder what was going to happen next. Smells wafted into the room from the kitchen. Beautiful smells of what I soon discovered were chicken and soup and cooking tomatoes. I was envious then. Food was a rare luxury to me. I would be lucky to get a few cold scraps or a half-starved rat. Honestly, I cannot tell you why I was alive at all. Yet these people could cook anything they wanted at any time. I couldn't even imagine the range of choices they had to make everyday regarding what they ate.

Should we have pasta tonight or tomorrow?

Should I have seafood or a salad?

Should I have dessert or not?

Can I move fast enough to grab that hairy spider?

I scowled for the first time my mother led me from the cellar. How spoiled these people were! How damn lucky! How evil they were to revel in such splendour when I had nothing! And (eventually) what made me so different? Why was I always cold, always hungry when there was no need for it? But, I thought to myself, maybe there was a reason… Maybe I was kept in the dark for a very important reason. Yes! That would be it! My parents thought I should be starved for a reason. There was a logical explanation! I would ask them later.

How foolish I was then.

**I never, usually, write long chapters. I think a long chapter drags on a little. No offence to those who usually write long chapters, there's nothing really wrong with them, it's just… well… **

**Anyway, I cut it off there because I knew if I went on, it would go on and on and on and be a little too lengthy and I believe that if you think it is too long, then your reader will think so too. So, this is cut in half to make it a little easier to swallow and digest. **

**If you think that Erik is a little less bitter in this chapter than the rest, I'd like to explain that he is still a child, an intelligent child, but a child nevertheless. Maybe about 8 years old. So he still has a little bit of innocence about him than the adult Erik. But I want to make it obvious that he is very smart. (Figuring out that heat rises from the candle, working out how to wear clothes that he's never even seen before, being able to speak well enough, etc). So he'll seem a little older than he actually is!**

**I must thank all those who have reviewed so far! I need them and me and Erik love to read them all. Every time I get a review (good or bad) I smile. It's the greatest feeling in the world! Thank you! Here are your personal thanks…**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is actually a replacement for the 5th chapter based on some things that were pointed out to my by Whisper in the Winds. Thank you!**

**This is really a continuation of the last chapter. That's why the last chapter ended so abruptly. This is the chapter when Erik finds out he is… well… not right. This is a chapter when he actually feels happy (for a short period of time but… still… happiness!) So it's not really as gloomy as the last one. **

**Erik – (Tied up and struggling) let go of me! You don't own me!**

**Me – I know I don't but I still want to keep you. Only for a little while… Now, how about a little kiss…?**

**Erik – No! Never! Somebody, please save me! (I move towards him expectantly…!)**

Chapter 5 The Music of the Night! 

I didn't actually expect to get food! I thought they would all eat here in front of me and I would have to resist the temptation to snatch something from their plates. But they fed me. It was the bast meal I have ever had. No, seriously I cannot remember a better meal than that night.

When the plate was set down in front of me, I had an overpowering urge to grab it in my fist and stuff it in my mouth, but I did not want to apear out of place so I sat and watched while my stomach bit with hunger and my fingers itched greedily. I was at the bottom of the table. My "father" sat next to me on the right and my sister on his right. My mother sat at the head of the table and Alexander, the music teacher on the other side and his wife next to me. She kept looking at my mask in a frightened sort of way and I became nervous, fidgeting with the tablecloth and dying to eat.

My parents picked up their knife and fork and began to eat. Dispite my terrible hunger, I waited a little longer, observing them carefully and how they handled the cutlery. I took my knife in my right hand and my fork in my left and began to cut into the juicy steak.

There was the meat, steak of some sort though I had no idea of the animals that could be eaten, except rats and the sort. Then there were steaming potatoes and green vegetables and other little delicacies that I longed to know the name of but I was too frightened to ask. Best to keep attention away from myself.

The music teacher addressed me cautiously and I looked up sharply. He was put off slightly by my mask but he continued nevertheless. Or maybe it was the skewered piece of meat halfway to my mouth in a most undignified manner, not that I knew about dignity then!

"So, when did you begin to sing…?" he asked politely. I was about to answer but my "father" did so for me.

"He's been singing since was a babe in a cradle!" he beamed proudly. A lie! Why? I was certainly not a singer when I was born, and I was barely a singer now! I hadn't sung a single note since the music lesson. "Can't get him to shut up most of the time!" he looked meaningfully at me. A hint? I got the message well enough but decided to ignore it.

"Forgive me," muttered Alexander nervously. "But I do not know your name, son."

My "father" was about to reply but I cut in determinably.

"Erik!" I cried breathlessly between mouthfuls. "My name is Erik."

My family stared at me. Mr. Destler was livid with furry. I had no idea where the name came from. I think it was when my mother read a story to my sister at night. I heard it from the cellar and listened miserably. It was about a spider and a rat. A children's story. The spider was afraid of the light and so never ventured out into the city, while the rat had no such fears and flitted about, stealing scraps and shiny objects, leaving the spider all alone and lonely. The rat's name was Solomon. The spider was called Erik.

As my parents had never named me, I felt I should name myself and let that be my identity. I was Erik, the spider, never to see sunlight and to be forever lonely.

The teacher raised his eyebrows at the reaction of the hosts and his wife stopped eating to watch curiously. Mr. Destler coughed discreetly. I would get a beating for my daring. A freezing fist of fear gripped my heart nad I suddenly lost my appetite. It soon returned, however, because when you are truly starving, hunger never stops pestering. I had heard my sister moan before the meal, "I am starving…!" and I grimaced with anger. How could she possibly know what hunger was!? Starvation didn't exist in her comfortable, safe world!

They all went back to their meals and Alexander's wife asked sweetly, "Can you play, Master Erik?" I blushed, unsure how to answer. She had called me _Master_ Erik! Also, I was confused. Did she mean an instrument, could I play a musical instrument? My "father" took my silence for a chance to steal some attention.

"_Erik_," he said, swallowing the name like raw fish, "can play the piano beautifully, can you not, Erik?"

He was inviting me into the conversation again! Oh, this was a dangerous game, conversation! One wrong word and I would be locked in that cellar again to be beaten or worse. Then again, by naming myself, I was already in deep waters. Would it hurt to swim deeper? Did I dare dive with the sharks…? No, I did not. I agreed with Mr. Destler.

"Yes," I said and he nodded approvingly. I hated that! He did not control me. I was my own master, I would not be silenced by my silly fears. "But not very well, my _father_," I spat the word. "exaggerates!" It was a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless and I was proud. And maybe a little too cocky! This is why I agreed when the music teacher said, "I would be grateful if you played for us after dinner…"

"Yes, very well."

As soon as the words rolled off my tongue, I regretted them. I had never touched a piano; in fact, I barely had an idea of what a piano looked like! I was doomed to fail miserably for my foolishness, and then what would become of me? My "father" sneered nastily and took the chance for his little joke.

"Oh, good sir, you have been blessed, for you shall hear the greatest pieces played to perfection!" I shook my head at him, begging him to stop, but he went on ruthlessly. "You might even hear some scores composed by Erik himself. Great enough even to rival Mozart or Beatoven _**A/N sorry, I can't spell his name and my computer can't recognise it!).** _You are a lucky man indeed, sir!"

I closed my eyes and hung my head, defeated. What had I led myself into? What had I done? I ate carefully after that, trying to make my food last as long as possible to give me an excuse not to play. But when the others had finished and I had nothing but a lonely potato on my otherwise clean plate, my father stood and said, "while the dessert is being prepared, Let _Erik_ play us some piano!"

He lifted me forcefully from my chair and half led me, half dragged me to the music room. He dumped me down on the piano stool and lifted the lid. The others had followed a little more slowly. This gave me time to make as much observations as possible. I was greeted with gleaming white ivory keys and thinner black ones between them. I ran my long, slender fingers over them and pressed lightly on one. It made a soft, tinkling note. I pressed on to the left of that and it made a deeper sound. Praying that my suspicions were correct I prodded one of the middle ones. It made a sound higher than the last note but lower than the first. Yes! This meant that right hand notes were higher and left hand notes were lower.

I used two fingers of my right hand to create a harmony and I smiled again. This was entertaining, in a fearful, humiliating kind of way. The others had arrived and were standing behind me now, waiting patiently. I panicked then. I knew no songs or melodies. Except one. A little tune I hummed and sang to myself whenever I was at my lowest. In the dark cellar, cold and lonely I would sing myself to sleep with this ballad. I don't even know where it came from or where I had heard it but I thought if I could maybe, maybe sound out the tune, I would satisfy the teacher and my "father" well enough.

I pressed the exact middle of the keyboard. It gave a dull midtone, as I had expected. My "father" coughed discreetly, surely meaning I should begin but I would not be rushed. One mistake would mean a loss of confidence and more mistakes and soon disaster. I would take my time. Judging the range of the piano and counting softly under my breath I played the first harmony. It sounded right. That was good, but only the beginning.

I added a deeper harmony with my left hand and thanked any and all Gods that I had guessed right. Out of the eighty keys I had guessed the right harmonies! I began to hum with the tune my voice echoing the piano sound shakily at first but with growing confidence and strength. I played a couple more notes to make the melody and suddenly I knew what I was doing. This was _easy_! I smiled and almost laughed out loud with delight at the beauty of the song.

Mr. Destler was fuming with anger. I fancy I saw steam shooting from his ears but I knew his was my imagination. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists. My sister was staring me with a mixture of fear and awe. My mother had her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide and glassy. The music teacher and his wife were wide eyed, their eyebrows raied. They were obviously impressed. I do not think they had seen such a child prodigy as me!

I had never come up with suitable lyrics for this but when the music teacher came up beside me and asked me to sing, I thought hard. I stopped playing so I could think. In the sudden silence I felt naked and exposed. I was breathing heavily, panic settling in again. I thought desperately. What could I sing about? What did I know enough about to sing? The cold, dark recesses of…? It hit me suddenly! Of coarse! Darkness, night-time, power and music. I would sing of these!

I began to play again and think faster than I have ever though before, I began to sing. It was sweet and in a minor key and I struggled to rhyme, only having a few seconds to figure out my lines and sing them. I was tense and halting and lacking strength, but I still pride myself even now that this was my first song!

_"Night-time sharpens_

_Heightens each sensation…_

_Darkness stirs_

_And wakes imagination…_

_Silently the senses _

_Abandon their defences…_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write_

_For I compose the music of the night…"_

My mother and sister had there eyes closed and my "father", short of looking angry now had a confused and slightly wistful look on his face. Alexander's wife shivered with pleasure at the softness of my voice and this gave me confidence. I sang with my heart, told my story and expressed my emotions for all to see. After all, music is little more than emotion in form!

"_Slowly, gently…_

_Night unfurls it's splendour…_

_Grasp it; sense it…_

_Tremulous and tender…_

_Seeing is believing_

_But music is deceiving _

_Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight_

_Dare you trust the music of the night…?"_

I confess here that I ran out of ideas. This was as far as the melody went and I would then start again but after singing the same melody twice I was running out of lyrics to fit it. So, you know what I did? I changed the tune. Speeding up and letting my fingers cascade down the piano I sang with a wide beam on my face,

_"Close your eyes_

_For your eyes will only tell the truth_

_And the truth isn't what you want to see!_

_In the dark it is easy to pretend!"_

Here I reached such a pitch with my voice that Alexander's wife gasped and he cried, "What a voice! What a voice!" I quieted here and my sister moaned with the ecstasy that my voice created.

"_But the truth is what it ought to be…"_

I began again with the original melody, adding soaring harmonies and inventing extra accompaniments as I played. At this point I didn't have to think so hard about the lyrics. They came to me easily. It was wording them so they rhymed and fitted the melody that was hard. Though this skill did strengthen over time and I no longer feel such difficulty.

"_Softly, deftly…_

_Music shall surround you_

_Hear it; fell it_

_Closing in around you_

_Turn your face away _

_From the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night…!"_

I finished there, ending the piece with rising harmonies and a sweet relaxing finale. There was silence. And then the music teacher began to applaud.

**So there you go! This is not the end of the chapter that I had called chapter 4, I just have to divide it into three parts. The next chapter is the best. It's the one where… oh, right, I can't tell you! Ha ha ha, you'll just have to read it yourself!**

**The lyrics you are reading are not the ones used in the musical or in the movie. I don't even know if they belong to Charles Heart (the God of all lyrics, we worship you, oh mighty one!). I heard them when I found a CD of the song still under construction. It's Michael Crawford singing (NOT my favouite Phantom!) and he sings these lyrics! I also mixed up the verses a little bit so it makes more sense coming from an 8 year old Erik. I missed out the verses when he is talking to Christine (e.g. _"Only then can you belong to me", "Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation..."_) to make more sense. I imagine he writes those just before kidnapping her or on the spot when they are in his lair!**

**Keep reading and reviewing. Erik loves to hear all the reviews. It's the only thing that makes him happy after Christine left, God bless. But I must make a request. I need an editor. Someone to read over my work before I post it and take out any spelling mistakes. I make to many embarrassing mistakes like in my last story I spelled Erik with a "C" nit a "K" for almost the whole story. And instead of writing "She would learn to love him," I wrote "He would learn to love him"!! I need someone to stop me doing any more of this. So, if you are interested and you're good at spelling and grammar please send me a private message telling me why YOU should get the job!**

**(Note - This is VOLUNTEER work!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Me – You know Erik, my piano can't be that out of tune!**

**Erik – (Lying through his teeth) Oh, I couldn't possibly play such an instrument. It would sound terrible!**

**Me – (disappointed) but if you could just…**

**Erik – (Sees my wide innocent eyes and is reminded of Christine) Well… I suppose I could play a little of the Phantom of the Opera for you… (Begins to play beautifully and I am lulled into my own phantasy world were I am Erik's wife)**

**Me – (jolted out of my reverie by the sharp rap at the door) what was that…?**

**Erik – Layers! Help me! Save me, I'm in here! **

**Me – (pulling him down) Get down!**

**Erik – Get off me! You don't own me!!**

**Me – Goddammit!**

**XXX**

**"_Why you ask, was I bound and chained_ **

**_In this cold and dismal place_**

_**Not for any mortal sin**_

_**But the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"**_

**XXX  
**

Chapter 6

Monsters

It was during dessert that I did it. Mr. Destler was still steaming at his failure of trying to humiliate me but he was doing so quietly. Still I got the felling that I had won the battle but lost the war… However, the music teacher and his wife ranted and raved about my talent and how one day I would be a legend. I believed them. Somehow I knew it was not possible and if I allowed myself such dreams, my "father" would do all he could to tear them down! My mother and sister just stared at me curiously. No longer with fear but something different. Awe? Confusion? I know not.

We had returned to the table. I could easily see that although the song had affected my father during it's climax, it had left him even more bitter and resentful than ever. He stomped on my foot hard under the table and I had to bite my tough so as not to cry out.

"Erik…?" my mother said, still getting used to the new name. "Could you please pass the cream, son?"

I picked up the dish and gently handed it to her, smiling. "Yes, mother, here you are."

His simple exchange made my heart flutter. Never before had anyone addressed me so politely before. Like I was a gentleman! I poured cream all over my hot apple crumble when she returned it and promptly burnt my mouth on the steaming pastry and soft apple. It was so sweet, I didn't mind but crunched it up nevertheless, savouring the lovely warm felling spread from my stomach to the ends of my fingers and toes. I was content for the first time in my life. I think this was the first time I ever remember when I needed or wanted nothing! It was a very good felling.

But there was one thing bothering me. It was minor but it itched and irritated me. I couldn't take larger bites of the food because of the mask. It had a very small hole for my mouth so I could eat and speak, but it was too small and get in the way. Anyway, the whole mask was heavy and hot and uncomfortable. So, without thinking, without even considering what might happen as a result, I took it off and placed it neatly on the tablecloth in front of me.

The resulting uproar was tremendous. It would have been comical had I been anywhere but in my seat. There was an ear-splitting crash as Alexander's wife fell to the floor with a shriek in a dead faint. Alexander himself, yelled and, clutching his hand to his heart with terror, gasped, "By God, what is this monster!?" My mother dropped her cutlery to the floor with a clatter and my sister screamed fit to burst. My father yelped and grabbed the mask, thrusting it into my face and yelling, "Put it back! Put it back you foolish demon!!"

It was all too much. I stood up and challenged my "father" fiercely. "Why? Why must a wear a mask!? No one else does!" He ignored me and focused his interest on the music teacher who was bent over his wife and wringing his hands in panic. "Please, do not be frightened!" Mr. Destler begged. "Erik will replace the mask and all will be…"

"Never," Alexander moaned. "I will never teach that monster, that freak, that _thing_!!" It cut me. I will never forget that. Was I a slug, some sort of vermin? He lifted his wife powerfully and made for the door. My mother tried to stop him, a hand on his shoulder but he wheeled round fire in his eyes, and she let go immediately. "You will hear from us again. I cannot give my services to a family who spawns demon and keeps monsters!" and with that, he slammed the door behind him.

The resounding silence as even more impressive than the uproar. My sister had disappeared upstairs. My mother wasn't looking at me. My "father" was, staring into my eyes with such hatred that I quailed at the very gaze. Then I dared speak, fear and hysteria tingeing my voice. "What is wrong with me?" I was sobbing. Tears welled and fell freely. I tried to smother them with my sleeves but that achieved nothing.

"What's wrong with me!" I was shouting now.

My mother turned to Mr. Destler. "He doesn't know…?" she asked. "How could he not know…?"

"Know what?" I cried desperately. "Speak to me!"

My father grabbed my arm with a vice like grip and dragged from the room. I yelled and squirmed but he hissed, "stop struggling you little worm or I'll flog you within an inch of you life!" I knew he meant that. He would do that with pleasure, I was sure. He yanked me up to my brother's room and thrust me in front of the only mirror.

It still plagues my nightmares. I made the same mistake as I did last time and thought that this creature was not I but some other unfortunate child. But he had the same slim, skeletal body with an unhealthily ribbed torso and expensive dusty clothes that did not suit me. The same matted slightly damp hair. The same man manhandling him. No, this was I, my own refection.

My face was normal enough on one side. I had seen it before. The sad blue eyes and lips. But suddenly my mouth twisted up into a permanent sneer, exposing rotten gums and cruel, sharp teeth. My skin was red raw like the steak I had eaten at dinner, broken and shredded. My eye bulging and bloodshot, horribly veined and murderous, red rimmed and watery. I was virtually bald, apart from the weak wisps of hair that sprouted from my scabbed scalp. My nose was non-existent, a great black hole serving instead.

So this was me? It suddenly came crashing down on me. The mask, the way nobody wanted to look at me, the way my father hated me and my mother feared me, the reason my sister was terrified even though I had tried to help her. The reason the music teacher refused to teach such a child. The reason I had been kept in the cold dark hell that was my life in the cellar and left to die like a sick animal. There was no reason, but an excuse! Because of this deformity, I would be doomed to a life of loneliness and pain.

In my rage, my pain and loss, it wrenched my hand out of my "father's" grasp and pounded the glass with my bare hands. It smashed, sending shards of razor sharp glass at my feet and legs, but I did not care. I even welcomed the pain. It distracted me from the mental pain that throbbed in my brain and caused my heart to bleed. My hands were soon bloody and shredded, adding more scars to a mounting collection.

Then I asked the question that haunts me to this very day. Why? Why was I cursed to bare such a face? I screamed it to the sky, to the God that had condemned me. Did I not deserve what others had? What had I done to deserve such a terrible curse? I heard my family talk behind the door about God and how sinners were punished for their wrongs. How God smote them and cursed their families to poverty. What was my sin, my wrong? Or was this face a sin and this was punishment? Or was the whole thing a lie and God merely a figment of the imagination of men who needed some answer to the cruelties of the world? However silly and distorted that image, that answer was.

Why!?

Why?

Why…?

**This is the final part of Chapter 4! Please, I need reviews!! **

**I am still looking for an editor!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here is chapter 7. This may be confusing, but part of this chapter is in present tense. Erik, tell the nice people I don't own you!**

**Erik – (is playing piano with extreme concentration and not listening) What…?**

**Me – (palms forehead) oh, never mind!**

**oh, before i forget. anything that is in _italics_ and closed in by speech marks ("") is sung. If it is not in italics it is NOT sung! if it is not inclosed by speech marks and in italics then it is NOT sung! i will not make up any lyrics (i suck at that) so, if someone shoutes or is being sarcastic and i happen to use italics, they may not be singing! (confused yet?) It's because my editor said i should be careful using song lyrics! So Erik's sister does NOT sing! (also, authors notes will always be in **bold** type!)**

Chapter 7

Escape

_I sit here, cold and miserable. No, more than that. My mind a broken kaleidoscope of shattered colours and thoughts. My hands are bleeding where I had beaten them off the sharp shards of glass. I am weeping pathetically and rocking back and forth, my knees tucked up to my chin. The hard cellar floor is wet and deathly cold and my new gentleman's clothes are already dirty and ripped and wet with blood and tears. My hair is no longer clean from the bath but matted once again and greasy, hanging in damp curtains over my face. _

_My face. My bloodied, leering, demonic face. This was it? This was the reason I was here and my fate forever. I always dreamed I would be rescued, taken away from this house by a kind angel and led to a caring family who would care for me like a real son and brother. But I realise that this is a foolish, stupid, weak fantasy! No one will ever look upon me and see a human child, like themselves, but a monster, a "thing"!_

_I throw back my head and crack it off the stone wall. Pain shoots down my spine and jars my jawbone. I cry out, but repeat the motion. This is it! I shall no longer live in this world. I shall kill myself. Crack! I stand up, determined, and wade through the room as if in a blood red haze and run my hands over the shelves. I find what I am looking for easily enough. A shard of glass from the broken wine bottle. It is the length from my thumb to my little finger. More than enough! _

_I rip my tattered shirt from me and press the point into the soft flesh of my chest, over my cold beating heart. The world wants me to die! Then I shall grant its wish!!_

_XXX_

I didn't do it. I stood like that for what felt like a thousand decades. Still, I didn't do it. Why? I shall tell you!

As I stood there, my chest heaving and pressing uncomfortably into the glass and willing myself, begging myself to just stab myself and end it, when a sound echoed through the room. It wasn't loud, it was almost silent, but after I have lurked in the dark for so long, my hearing and sight are now acute. There were footsteps.

I whimpered, frightened _he_ had come to teach me a lesson for my rudeness earlier, and dropped the dark glass to the floor, where it landed with a clink. I stared at the door fearfully but the footsteps stopped outside, and stood there, as if hesitating. Then a slip of paper was pushed under the space between floor and door and the footsteps hurried away.

I frowned and wandered forward, crouching and, using the light from the room outside, looked at the scrap. I couldn't read it, having never even opened a book. For those of you truly curious, I kept the note, which I learned to read later. It said,

_My dear brother_

_Our father is very angry and frightening. He is planning on killing you today at midnight. I wouldn't care about you except you play and sing like an angel. You cannot be a demon! Demons shriek and scream hideously and torment others. I have thought a while and have realised that if you wished to harm us, then you would have done so at the dinner and that you won't hurt us, even though we have treated you like an animal. This is not demonic behaviour and so I can only come to the conclusion that you are an angel, only a fallen angel. _

_Look for me my moonlight_

_Yours_

_Your undeserving sister. _

_P.S. I will come for you at 11 o'clock tonight and set you free. _

Of course, I got none of this. I sat and stared at the note desperately, wondering what an Earth it said. I was gasping; tears still tracing commas down my cheeks and still very frightened and saddened. If it hadn't been for the note, I would have continued my crazed task to end my life, but it was simple human curiosity that kept me sane. Time crawled by like slippery slugs and hours must have passed; though I have no way of actually knowing. When my sister finally came down to me with a candle and opened the door, I jumped to my feet with such speed and suddenness, my knees buckled and I was sent to the hard ground again.

She lifted me up gingerly with gentle hands and I smiled at her. She flinched and I remembered my face and instantly looked away.

"Forgive me," I said softly. "I forgot…"

"Never mind that now!" she hissed. "Come with me!"

"What?"

"Didn't you read the note a left you…?"

I sighed hopelessly. "I cannot read."

She just stared at me, as though that was the strangest thing about me. She shook her head, frowning but lingered on it little. "I have come to take you away," she explained. "Father wants to kill you and I am here to rescue you…" she grabbed my hand and attempted to drag me out of the cellar. But, unlike Mr. Destler, her grip was weak and I could hold her back. I forced her to look at me and uttered a single word; "why?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know," she breathed. "I know I shouldn't but… but…" she looked up at me with wide, gleaming eyes. "But your voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound, and that night, there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to sour…" she sighed and her eyes glazed over as she fell back into memory. "And I'd heard as I've never heard before…"

I stared at her and she blushed, looking away. I coughed with embarrassment and asked, if only to change the subject, "how will you help me escape…?"

She snapped back to reality. "Father is in the study, loading his gun and…"

"Is that how he was going to do it!?" I gasped, interrupting her. "I was to be shot down like a dog in the cellar?" I was hurt, despite the circumstances.

"Never mind that now!" she hissed. "We can't go through the front door or the back door or he will catch us and we'll both get a beating for that! No, you shall climb through my window and out into the back garden. Whatever you do then will be your concern, not mine!"

I raised my eyebrows. The simple fact that she was helping me was incredible in itself, yet she was trying to act unconcerned and uncaring. As if I didn't matter! I smiled at her shyly and tried to kiss her on the cheek, as a sign of my gratitude and thankfulness, but she gasped and pushed me away. I gave her a wounded look.

"It's your face…" she explained tentatively. I shrugged, like I cared little but inside I was filled with sadness and hurt. "Follow me."

I followed her obediently and she led me past the extravagant room beyond and out into the hall. When we passed the music room, she warned me in little more than a whisper that the study was through the door to the right and that I should hurry past, making as little sound as a mouse. She darted across fearfully but I couldn't help lingering long enough to stroke the piano fondly, leaving a wandering pathway though the dust.

The stairs were tricky. I was tired and clumsy, stepping on the stairs that creaked and tripping up. I made it to the top however, on my own, unlike the last time. It seemed that the one and only decent meal I had had strengthened me. We passed by three doors on the way to my sister's bedroom. Behind the third door I heard a quiet whimpering. I stopped my sister with a silent hand on her arm and gestured to the door questioningly.

"That's mother," she mouthed. "Been sobbing since father told her what he was going to do!"

I opened my mouth to say something but quickly changed my mind and shut it again. Not without my sister noticing, however. "What is it?"

I shook my head. "I just…" I hesitated. "It's just that… that is… can I…"

"Yes…?" she prompted gently.

"Can I say goodbye…?"

My sister frowned and thought a little, her brow creasing slightly as she considered it. "I suppose," she yielded reluctantly. "But quickly and if she is asleep, do not wake her!"

To my despair, she was indeed asleep, but crying softly. I leant over her and breathed in the smell of her hair. Her back was turned to me but I didn't want to see her face anyway. Not streaked with tears and marked with sorrow. So I memorised her face as she listened to my song and spoke in a voice that broke with emotion.

"Mother," I whispered to her. "I am so sorry for all the despair I have caused you. You deserved a better son." I swallowed and took a beep breath before continuing. "I hope that your life will take a happy turn once I am gone. You will probably never see me again, but I think that would be best…" I leant forward to kiss her hair but remembered my sisters reaction and refrained. "I love you," I said instead. "Though, I am sure you never loved me…"

She was still crying slightly so I sang to her, my haunting lullaby.

"_Turn your thought's away from cold unfeeling light…_

_And listen to the music of the night…"_

Her breathing eased and the tears stopped as she drifted finally into sweet and warm dreams. I left her and went back to my sister. To my great surprise, I saw her rub her eyes of her own tears. I could not blame her for indeed, tears were slithering down my own. We did our best to hide them from the other and scurried to her room like frightened rats.

She fumbled with the latch and tugged open the window. It slid upwards with a squeak and we both held our breath. No sound came from downstairs. Not until I was halfway out the window, did a cold hard voice shout, "Where is he!? Where is that damn rat!?"

I quailed in fright and loft my footing, slipping slightly on the drainpipe. "Hurry," my sister urged me. "Before he comes!" Trembling with fear I clambered out of the window, sweat making my hands slippery as I searched desperately for hand and footholds. I was near the bottom when I heard his thundering footsteps rushing up the stairs. I had landed and was at the foot of the garden by the time he barged into her room. Moving quickly, I had melted away into the shadows before she replied innocently, "No, father, I have not seen him…!"

**Phantom Jedi edited this chapter. Congratulations, Miss Jedi, my new beta! No one else need apply; I have found my editor! Thank you very much, Miss Jedi! Erik will now crown you the Queen of my spelling and grammar mistakes (onestly, whithout hir hilp a wood bee helplees!). **

**Erik – (placing a crown on Phantom Jedi's head) Your majesty! (Then leans forward and hisses in her ear) Please, you gotta get me out of here. I can't stand having to rub Miss Phantom of Quill and Ink's feet again!**

**Me – Oh, be quiet, I am publishing your story!**

**Erik – (thoughtfully)… oh yeah…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Don't stop reviewing now! You've all been great and I have to thank you all for your excellent patience and reviewing skills. They've been great. Thank you so much! And thank you to my editor for doing an excellent job with this story so far! And I'd like to thank my mum and my dad and my agent and… okay, just joking!!**

**Anyway, I need your opinion. Do you want the gypsies to make him the "Living Corpse" or the "Devils Child"? Should I stay close to the book or pay tribute to the movie…?**

**Erik – (scathingly) I don't see how it matters seeing as you own neither!**

**Me – That's enough from you now!**

Chapter 8 Tarot 

I was running, speeding away from a home where I never felt safe. I wasn't safe outside either; I wasn't naïve enough to think that. I felt ecstatic, though, my heart pounding happily and my breath clouding in front of me in the chilling night air. After much time, I stopped, resting my hands on my knees and allowing myself a brief grin and panting heavily. I confess I had no idea where I was but I didn't really care. I had escaped; it didn't matter where I was so long as I was far away from that house!

Reality didn't take long to sink in, however. I found myself shivering before long. I cast around wearily for some thing to warm myself. Nothing. A drip formed itself on the end of my nose and I sniffed, hugging myself tightly. I was in a sort of forest of tall oaks and beech trees. There was no moon and the darkness was absolute. This troubled me little; I could see well enough. I curled up under a towering oak and closed my eyes.

I would worry about heat later. I had fallen asleep in the cold and pitch dark many times before, once more was nothing. My ears caught all the sounds of the trees and the nocturnal animals. Hisses and rustlings and the occasional squeak or hoot. _The real music of the night_, I smiled to myself. My breathing slowed and I drifted, the melody lulling me into unremembered dreams.

XXX

I was a fool to allow my sleepiness halt my search for warmth and shelter. I woke stiff and unable to move. I panicked and shuddered in the weak morning sunlight, twitching my fingers and wriggling my toes. I opened my eyes and for a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then it all came flooding back to me. The escape, my sister helping me. I practised flexing my hinds into fists and stretching them out again. When I had worked some feeling into my limbs, I sat up, clutching my head, which was throbbing painfully. My clothes were soaked and filthy. I could've frozen to death in my sleep if I hadn't woken. What a fool I had been!

Then I wondered what had woken me. I listened carefully and heard the sounds of heavy footfalls and voices what must have been at least a score of people. Panic returned and I frantically hauled myself to my feet. I had to hold on to a low branch to keep myself steady. Hopefully, they would see only an insignificant boy and pass me by. I cursed and grimaced; of course they would see more than that! How many faces like mines does one see every day?

I plastered my dark, sticky hair to my face. I had left the mask back in the cellar. Why didn't I think to grab it when my sister came for me? Then again, would I bring myself to wear it again? I had no time to ponder it because the travellers came within sight and one spotting me, calling over to his companions in a strong foreign accent. I froze; ready to run if I needed to.

They came closer. A woman with dark mottled skin addressed me. "What's a young man like you doing all alone in the woods this morning?" she hissed in a frog-like voice.

I didn't answer. She sniffed. A tall, pockmarked youth behind her said, "He's lost, I'll bet."

The whole company had stopped now, staring at me curiously. I bit my lip.

"Are you lost, little one?" asked the old crone.

I shook my head.

"What's his name?" sneered the youth.

"Aye," murmured the old woman. "What's your name?"

I forced myself to blurt out, "Erik… My name is Erik."

"That's a gentleman's name," remarked the youth and the woman nodded in agreement. "And those are gentleman's clothes if I'm right. They may be tattered and ruined, but that's an expensive material. He's a runaway if you ask me," he concluded.

The woman smiled at me. "Are you a runaway, boy?"

I hesitated. "…No…" the uncertainness must have shown in my eyes because the woman laughed harshly and said. "The biggest lie I ever heard." She eyed me up like a hawk. "Do you know anything about horses, Erik?"

I shook my head.

"Can you read?"

"No…"

"Can you cook?"

"No…"

She shrugged. "We'll find a job for you later," she said. "That is, if you want to join our party."

I looked around them. They were rough people with cheap clothes. Most were thin and dirty looking. I got the feeling these were the kind of people my "father" would sneer at. But they had food and clothing and company. I would be safer with them than of I set off alone. They would take me far away from the place that had been my home for a long time. That was definitely a good thing. So I said, "Yes, I would like that very much."

"The boy's mad!" sniggered the youth.

The woman scowled. "Then it's up to you to put him right again!"

His face fell. "Please, Grandmamma," he pleaded.

"Not another word out of you!" she snapped and the company moved on, leaving the boy and myself alone at the back.

"The name's Joey," he said, smiling at me. "Stick close to me, Erik and you won't go wrong."

I smiled back at him gratefully and fell into step beside him. He looked at me curiously. "What's wrong with your face…?"

"Nothing," I said, quickly smoothing my hair down again. He shrugged and faced front again. I took the opportunity to lick my hands and flatten my hair down harder; making sure it covered my right cheek completely.

I was still hungry, my stomach groaning terribly, so I soon lagged behind. "You're a skinny little rat, aren't you?" Joey chuckled. He threw me a rasher of bacon and I snuffled it down swiftly. "Keep up and you'll get more."

I moved a bit faster with the promise of food in front of me. I watched my foot and focused on a steady rhythm. I began to mutter under my breath a little tune. It was good, but I needed lyrics, a story to fit it. I thought a while but nothing came to me. No matter, I would dwell on it later. I just worked on sorting the tune in my mind. I imagined swelling violins and an organ crescendo and pounding drums. I smiled happily.

"What're you humming about?" grunted Joey in front of me. "Sound's creepy, that tune."

I looked up. I have never intended to make it sound scary. "Would it sound better it I sang it like this?" I asked and changed key slightly, singing smoothly, though my throat was as dry as crisp leaves.

"Nah," he grinned. "I preferred it when it was creepy. What is it?"

I blushed slightly. "I don't know," I lied. "I cannot remember where I heard it."

"Sing it again."

I obliged, my blush deepening, but he seemed to like it. "You're a decent little singer," he told me. "Aye, you've a nice voice." I smiled a little wider.

We stopped about midday and the gypsies put up tents and started fires. They worked swiftly and finished in less than fifteen minutes. It seemed they had done this many times before. They seemed to have forgotten about me. This didn't bother me, in fact I was happy just to meander through the forest of tents and watch the people going about their business. No one talked to me, which suited me, but a few gave me curious looks before returning to their business.

"You're that Erik boy, aren't you?"

I turned at the sound of me name and saw a young woman in a long shawl and her face covered with a veil. Her eyes were grass green and twinkling, like an emerald. I nodded.

"I can tell your future," she said in a matter of fact voice. I stared at her. "I often tell people's futures when there's a fair, but I need to practise on someone. I've done all the others but I've never met you before. Would you let me?"

My eyes widened. To know one's fate? Was it possible? I thought not. I remembered my brother before he left wanted to go to a fair once to have his fortune read but Mr. Destler forbade it, saying it was all trickery and witchcraft. But what would it hurt? If she were indeed a fake, then nothing would change. On the other hand, if she were the real thing, then I would have a small insight into my future. This couldn't be a bad thing. I nodded and sat down at her little table and waited patiently as she bustled with a deck of square brightly-coloured cards.

She shuffled them and laid them out on the table face down. "These are Tarot cards," she explained. "I must ask you to select seven cards." I pointed to the cards I had chosen and she flipped them face up. A skeleton, a hangman, a princess, an angel, a sun, a moon, and a jester stared back up at me. The fortune-teller looked down at them, confused. "You have a complex fate, my friend," she told me.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Well, the hangman and the skeleton tell of misery and death." _No surprises there, _I thought. "But the sun speaks of happiness. The princess of love, maybe a pretty woman…?" Now I knew her to be false. No woman would ever love a face like mine. "The moon is a beacon in the darkest night. The jester symbolises lies and trickery, but the angel means sincerity and truth." She sighed heavily. "I suppose it could mean you will be lied to but tell the truth, or live a lie and receive nothing but truth in return. You're impossible! Your future is so muddled, it would need some sort of genus to read it," she looked up at me, apologetically.

"It is fine," I told her. "You did your best."

She smiled sheepishly. "I can tell you one thing however. The sun sheds light on all things sooner or later. If you are lying to me, to us," she gestured to camp. "Keeping something hidden like the jester suggests, then we will know."

I swallowed and did my best not to look guilty. I flattened my hair over my face for the umpteenth time and prayed she didn't notice. She smiled at me, showing sharp teeth and tidied up the Tarot deck. I stood up and hurried away before she asked me to do anything else.

I stopped and stood by a group of boys who were wrestling in the mud. I felt like laughing at them. They looked so silly and childish. One boy had his opponent under him, pinned down on his stomach by the other boys knees, his arm twisted cruelly behind his back. "Alright! Alright!" he cried. "I give! I give!"

The winner sneered and stood up, letting the other up. He scowled at him, rubbing his arm reproachfully. "You think you're so tough!" he spat.

"That's because I am the toughest," he retorted.

"Sure, the toughest out of the boys, but I bet Cecelia would beat you if you had the guts to fight her!"

The winner paled. "Aye, but Cecelia's an animal."

"An animal, am I?" a girl stood impressively before them. Nobody seemed to know how she got there. "You'll pay for that."

I watched as he shrank back fearfully. "Oh, come on, Cecie. I didn't mean it."

She frowned down at him. "Alright, but you'd better pay someone to take it for you. I'm in a fighting mood today!"

To my horror, he thrust a finger at me. "That one said you were a dirty cow!"

I shook my head desperately, my throat dry. "He is lying!" I swore. "I do not even know you!" She paid no attention, but advanced on me, anger dancing in her eyes. I backed away and the other boys jeered. I fancy they would be quelling in fear if they were in my shoes.

She hit me, quite suddenly and unexpectedly. She was strong and my head snapped back painfully. My hair fell away from my face and I covered it with my hand quickly. She hit me again and tripped me, causing me to fall to the ground, my face in the mud. I grabbed her legs and she came falling down beside me. She shrieked, grabbed my hair and dragged me to a freezing, murky puddle. I struggled desperately but she had the better of me. I heard cries and catcalls from the other boys.

"Drown him!"

"Get him, Cecie!"

She plunged my face into the chilling water and I gasped, swallowing a lot of dirt and mud, making me choke. She sat on my back and flattened me to the ground. Clutching a fistful of my hair, she jerked my head out of the water. Clear of mud and my hair in her claw-like grip, my face was exposed in all its terrible horror.

Everyone froze.

**Erik – they were so mean to me, those Gypsies. I hate them! Anyway, keep reviewing, it inspires her!**

**Anyway, do forgive me for taking so long to update, i assure you it will not happen again! **


	9. Chapter 9

**I must ask whether anyone knows if there are any male authors in this site. I keep coming across female authors. Surely there must be some boys out there who enjoy writing. I know plenty that are at my school but they're not part of this website. I just wondered, really… So, if you are a boy author (or you know one on this website) and you're reading this, review now or send me a private message and let me know. I'm just curious is all. **

**Chapter 9**

The Devil's Child 

Nobody moved. The silence was as heavy as the air before a storm, and like a storm there was a short calm before the thunder cracked. A boy gave a shout and ran into one of the tents. Several nearby girls shrieked and hid behind their mothers. The people, who had been standing or sitting around, ignoring the boys fighting suddenly looked up and stared, wide-eyed with horror.

The girl on top of me jumped up and backed away fearfully. I slowly brought myself out of the mud. My arm hurt terribly but I don't think I was seriously hurt. The weight of all the frightened and horrified stares pinned me down, fixing me to the spot. I didn't even cover my face with my hand or my hair. There was not a sound, not a single whisper. I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves.

I raised my hands in front of me as a signal of friendship. More than a few of the flinched. "I will not harm you," I told them. "Please, I just want shelter, maybe some food. Is that so much to ask for…?" the silence grew, if possible, denser. Then the young woman who had told my future mere moments ago took a step forward, her eyes full of awe, and asked,

"what are you…?"

"I am human," I said. "The same is you," I gestured around me at the many wide-eyed faces. I was about to say more, but I was interrupted by a thickset man with skin so dark, it seemed like black velvet.

"No, He's nothing like us! He cannot be human!"

"I assure you, I…"

"He's a monster!" yelled an old crone.

"Please…" I begged.

A baby began to bawl loudly. A little boy, three or four years younger than me, shouted, "look, mommy! Look at his face!" His mother ignored him, screaming over him, "burn him! Burn him and feed the ashes to the dogs!"

Another woman took up the cry, and another. "Burn him! Burn him!"

"No!" I pleaded. "I just…"

My arms were grabbed from behind and a tall man with a dozen nose piercings and muscles like an ox yanked me off my feet. My hands were bound with thick cutting rope behind me. I struggled hopelessly, grappling with the man who held me, but it was no use. He picked me up and shook me like a rag doll. I kicked and squirmed, succeeding in hitting him in the stomach. I got a knock on the head for that, leaving me dazed and confused. I kept fighting nonetheless.

A long hard wooden object flew through the air. There was a sickening crack and I knew no more.

XXX

I awoke sore and aching. My head throbbed violently and I groaned miserably. I was in a standing position with my hands held over my head and my feet bound. I looked up; wincing in the bright sunlight to see my wrists tied with thick rope, cutting mercilessly into my flesh. My gentlemen's clothes hung off me, little more than rags now. I was tied to a post in the middle of a clearing in the tents. No one seemed to be about. I flexed my fingers and toes and struggled against the ropes vainly. I hung my hair, letting my hair fall in front of my eyes. The sun beat down hard and I could feel my back and neck burning painfully.

I didn't waste my breath calling for help. Who would help this demon stung up by his wrists to a wooden pole? A figure, tall and young walked into the clearing and stood in front of me. I raised my head wearily. It was Joey. He leaned forward until he was right up close to me and whispered, "is there anything you want before you die?"

The question startled me out of my stupor. "What…?" I gasped. My voice was so weak I could barely make any sound above a whisper. "You're not… really going… to kill me… are you?"

He shrugged. "I cannot stop them. When they make up their minds about something like this, then that's that. But I could make you a little more comfortable before it happens." He smiled sweetly at me. I should have been suspicious even then but I was so hungry and weak I could barely think straight. The blaring sun didn't help.

"Water…" I begged. I licked my lips, my throat parched and burning. "Please… water…"

He smiled an evil smile and left. I frowned. If he wanted to make me more "comfortable", then why didn't he untie me and help me into some shade. He came back with a bucket of steaming liquid. My eyes widened in alarm as I realised far too late what he was about to do.

He threw the piping hot water, soaking me and burning me. I yelped and squirmed against the post. It was not boiling so the pain subsided quickly, but I glared at him coldly. This was only a front for the hurt and despair I felt inside. He laughed nastily and ran off, leaving me dripping and shivering slightly as the water cooled.

It wasn't long before I was shuddering with the chill. Goosebumps irrupting up my arms. The sun did little to warm me now and I began to sneeze, each cough causing my whole body to tremble. I could barely feel my arms any more and I certainly couldn't feel my hands. I am not ashamed to say that I almost cried then, hitched up there like a scarecrow. However, I say almost.

It was a long time before they came for me. Night had fallen and I was drifting in and out of conscienceless. It was a blessing to black out and not feel the pain in my limbs and the bruises on my ribs, though I was always slightly paranoid I would never open my eyes again. They were carrying flickering torches that illuminated the menacing hunger in their eyes. Some men laid down stacks of dry sticks and firewood. Men I had walked with only this morning.

Fear began to bubble up inside me and I began to panic. "Please!" I cried in blind terror. "Do not… do this…! I have… done nothing… to you…!" My voice was still a shrill croak in my bone-dry throat.

"Liar!" yelled the fortune-teller. The very same which had told my future only hours ago, I was sure. "Don't listen to him!" she shrieked. "He'll cast a spell on all of us!"

I shrank back from the flare of the torches.

"Let the burning begin!!" cried Joey triumphantly.

"No!" The fortune-teller caught his torch mere inches from the firewood. "He must not be burned."

Several of the gypsies groaned loudly. Joey's grandmother called, "Not this again! He's a demon, we all know your tarot cards are as fake as my love potions!"

"No!" she repeated, standing in front of me with her arms outstretched. "Not this time. This time was different. I saw his future, I as sure of it. He picked the sun, which reveals all. That's how he could not hide his secret for long. However," she continued despite many sceptical looks, "he is also protected by the angel. If you harm this boy, then the wrath of God shall come and smite you all!"

I blinked, not sure was to do. There was a murmur of whispers through the crowd, not all of them sceptical this time. Many blessed themselves hurriedly, muttering prayers. "If what you say is true," said a man near the front, "then we are damned if we kill him, but this creature is obviously the spawn of Satan. So even if there is no truth in what your silly cards say, then we will be hunted and killed by all the devils minions because we had slain his only son!"

At this there were a lot more prayers being said and a flurry of hands as more people crossed themselves. I looked up hopefully. I saw the girl who had fought me, Cecilia, panic and hide behind her mother. If it were any other situation, I would have laughed at her. It would serve her right to live in fear of the devil's minions after she had beaten me!

"Then what do you suggest we do?" asked someone from the back. The fortune-teller looked around at the fearful faces and pondered on my fate.

"We could lock him up…?" she said.

"Nah!" scoffed Joey. "He would take up too much room."

I highly doubted that but I was far too tired to make comment. At any rate, my intuition told me it would be much wiser to stay silent.

"Then we'll make him pay for it!" she shouted over the din of the arguing crowd. "Sell tickets to see the "devil's child"! We can make a spectacle out of him!"

At last I found my voice. "No!" I yelped as loud as I could. "Please… anything… but that…!"

"Would you rather be burned?" the fortune-teller hissed at me. I hung my head. It seemed I had no choice whatsoever. They took axes and cut me down, letting me drop heavily to the muddy ground rather than catching me. Two tough men held me under my arms and dragged me, my legs snaging painfully on stones or cracks because I was too weak to walk.

The last thing I saw before they threw in a cage was the sign above it. Someone had hastily taken a splintered plank of wood and fixed it onto the bars of the cage. It was covered in spiked blood-red letters that I later learned said;

"_**The Devil's Child!"**_

**_XXX_**

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I just couldn't find the time, what with school, homework, music practise, drawing, other books, etc. Thank you so much for all you're lovely reviews. thank you especially to Eriks White Rose. She's been keeping Erik company while he tell us his woeful tail of misery and dispair. You enspire me, thank you so! **

**Erik - Yes, thank you. I would much rather be kidnapped by you that the Phantom of Quill and Ink. You're so much kinder... Wait a moment... ponders with an evil look of glee on his face Are you a good singer? 'Cause if you want to i could arrange a kidnap - er, i mean singing lesson - for you... cough cough...!**

**Me - Now, now, Erik. No kidnapping people unless they are your property.**

**Erik - i'm not your property and yet you have kidnapped me!**

**Me - That's not the point! Just because i don't own you doesn't mean... Oh shut up!**


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